Trick Candle
by cge0361
Summary: To give a gift of trust and faith is to entrust one's open secret to another.


Trick Candle.

* * *

"…as hard as you can."

* * *

Muffled by twin-layered corrugation, I heard only the duller vibrations of distant voices. No matter, were they clear and meant for my ears, I could not—yet—comprehend them. There were more than two around but to two I paid attention. One, familiar, I knew so well that I felt like I had heard it every day of my life; perhaps I had. The other, strange, belonging to a stranger. Not completely unfamiliar, however; a few days ago and earlier this morning I had heard it, although I was in another box and I could not see its source, then, either.

A flap above me opened enough to let in bright light that shocked my vision. She, the familiar voice's owner, spoke: "Alright, little one. You take good care of him." The flap came back down and with that the first human that I ever knew that I knew left my life. So to speak; again muffled I heard it a few times more, just before hearing a terrible peal and feeling a brutal force that shook this box in which I lay, a force that fixed shut its flaps. But for some crudely cut holes around the tops of the walls, two of which would soon be occluded by the strange man's hands, I was encased in darkness and dull echoes of outside sounds.

In my prison I paced about a little, but my footing became unsteady as an unseen force jostled my world about, tilting to one side or another or bobbing about. When respite came, my floor leaned a little, enough to demand I either stand aligned against it or rest beside its lowest wall. Said wide enough, I chose the latter. New dull sounds penetrated the box, brutal and cacophonous to my young ears—but do not feel bad, I now recognize your tastes, (never mind)—that let me know no peace for some time. When they stopped, the bobbing and sloshing resumed till stability and balance returned.

I had nearly fallen asleep when the box shook and a blade tore through its seal. Fresh, cool air stroked my ears as the box's flaps folded away and the stranger's arms reached in, lifting me away and depositing me in a tiny area, its obvious passages blockaded by low, impromptu walls built of other cardboard boxes. The stranger's voice, not muffled but still distant, came to me while I cautiously walked the perimeter of this space, ultimately discovering a bowl with water in one basin and kibble in another. I listened intently but understood little. "Yeah, I sneaked it in. I'm not supposed to have one in here. If the landlord—" The water seemed okay, but it tasted a little different. The kibble was the same food I had eaten for all the days of my life, however few they were at the time. "—no, I told you that I didn't really want a pokemon; I had my fill when I was a kid. Because you asked me to reconsider. I did it to help you help your friend who wanted 'good homes' for them. No, I'll keep it for a while, but if I find somebody who actually wants an eevee and doesn't seem like a weirdo, I'll give it away."

These words meant nothing to me at the time, but the tones were clear. A small rug on the cold, hard floor would have to do. As I settled down upon it, I heard the stranger's footsteps and soon got my first good look at him. He bid to step over the barrier but failed to clear it. Snagged and stumbled, he fell into my space. He now spoke only a faint groan. I felt like there was something I was indebted to do, but could not bring it to mind. Instead, I laid myself down again, pressing myself into the gap beneath his chest and chin. I imitated his faint groan.

His left hand shifted and sank its digits into my fur.

* * *

"…you have to blow…"

* * *

Having gotten out I had gotten in—into just about everything: Sand, water, mud, blood, oils, spoils, grit, grease, grime, gravel, bushes and weeds with prickly seeds, coffee grounds spent and clothes dryer lint; and into my coat they got. When I returned from my adventure, I wanted nothing more than to tell you about it. But, alas, I could not with words, and the version of the story that my appearance told could not have been nearly as interesting as what I remembered because you seemed displeased to know it. I'd grown accustomed to many of your words, including those that weren't commands, but some were new, or at least had never been spoken by you to me with such ferocity. I sat and understood that you did not want me to go on such an adventure again, although I could not discern if your fury's cause was because I had gone out alone or because I had gone out without you. I assumed the former, since you had not seemed to have wanted to be around me much for a while at that point—books and television were better friends to you, despite the efforts I had made.

You ordered me into the kitchen, onto its hard, cold floor, and to remain there till you attended to me. Then, you found your telephone. "Yeah, I've got to fucking cancel. The pesky thing got loose and looks like a de-bagged trubbish. No, if I don't do something about it now the whole place will turn into a sty while we're gone. At least it sold out, so it better be on T.V. for what I'm paying for the sports package. I'm strongly considering it. Yeah, have fun."—you touched the telephone where it makes the voices stop—"Somebody ought to, tonight." Returning to me, wearing the yellow things on your hands that you wear when you put poisons on porcelain fixtures, you carried me into their room, placed me into the bathtub, and started its waters. My reluctance and cowardice you commented upon, "…certainly won't want to be made a vaporeon," before forcing me into the slowly rising pool and using a large cup to drench me. This is what that was like…

…but then you lifted me out, swaddled me in a towel featuring odd colors, and brought me into your living room. I wiggled until the towel loosened enough to see about. I saw you, that we were in the reclining chair, and that you were tuning the television. You left it alone when it displayed tall men wearing odd colors, throwing a ball at each other and sometimes at a thing above them, before running to the same thing but some distance away. After a while you put me down and replenished my bowls. After I fed, I noticed a leaf, surely one that stowed away when I returned home. I picked it up by its upwardly curling stem and brought it to you for disposal, knowing how you felt about such things. You took it, looked at me, reached down, and tucked its stem through a tight overlap in the collar you had put on me some time before. Then you picked me up again, sat me upon your lap, and although your attention was focused on your television, your interest—as told by your stroking hands and careful cradling of my body—belonged to me. Although I was still a little damp deep down and the ambient air mechanically cooled, all I felt was warmth.

I hoped to go on another adventure someday; but only with you beside me.

* * *

"If you want to make a wish and have it come true…"

* * *

I wasn't supposed to leave your bedroom, but the commotion was too much to snooze through and too interesting to ignore. I know, a poor excuse since this was not the first time you'd brought over your poker "buddies." Whatever, I disobeyed. I slipped into the kitchen hoping to find my dishes, but you had put them up or away. My familiarity with your game came from when we would see it on television, usually as a lame excuse to have a dramatic moment in a movie; I understood that it was about paper squares and either taking or losing things that were important. Usually, little coins and occasionally paper money, but this game was different. You and your "buddies" were using things and negotiating on value more than you talked about the cards. Things like pokemon medicines, films on computer chips, and other items that I did not recognize. Watching the commotion that kept me awake was better than suffering in darkness, but not by much. What about this interested, you, I wondered, while listening in without much intent. That was, until your voice became agitated. My ears piqued as somebody spoke to you.

"Sure you still have it. You cashed in part of your pot for a thunder stone last week and a fire stone this week. I don't see you raising pikachu or growlithe in a flat like this, so obviously you've still got that eevee and you can't decide."

You muttered, "I can't have pokemon in this building."

He chuckled and held something up, some brown fuzz. "I guess this tumbleweed came from your own brush, then? Call with your eevee or fold."

"Why do you want him?"

"I've got a cousin that wants one."

"You can find another one."

"This pot doesn't ride on their eevees. Call or fold?"

"Fold, and fuck off. All of you, get out. Take all your crap and sort it on the sidewalk if you want to."

The other man dropped his cards to the table and laughed heartily, "Don't get so excited, it was just two-pair." Your "buddies" dispersed with vitriolic commentary and left behind quite a mess. I helped to gather some of the garbage—a potato chip bag and some other wrappers—as best I could and watched you handle the rest. All said and done, the expression on your face would warn off anyone, but I had to hop into your lap when you finally sat down. You needed me there. That's why you wouldn't wager me, even when five of your cards all had the same colored shapes on them just like the people who win the game do in those movies. The palm of your left hand came over me and you whispered something. I imitated the sound as best I could and squirmed a little to climb up your torso, to where you were warmest.

A little later you asked me what I wanted to become. I replied, "I already am," words you could not understand and which I thought to be true.

A little later you asked me what I wanted to be. I replied, "Yours," words you could not understand and which I hoped already were true.

You remained in that chair and fell asleep with me lying upon you. Something felt wrong within me; anxiety, adrenaline, worry, I knew not. But I kept looking toward an eastern window after awakening from each of a series of small naps. A glance at your clock showed me that all were but an hour or so long. A glance at your calendar showed me that tomorrow was an important day to you. I felt that it was important too. It was coming. Sunrise. It would be alright, then.

* * *

"Okay, I guess the joke stops being funny after a while. I thought it would only re-light once or twice." My birthday didn't mean jack to me, my family lives miles away and we did not part on smooth terms. The only reason I even cared about it was because by coincidence it was the day last year that I got my eevee—well, today, espeon. I guess it's his idea of a present, although I'm not sure how he knew. Probably just another coincidence. Anyway, I got him an imported pokepuff-thing since it looks like a cupcake and put a trick candle on it to make it a little more fun. Okay, an anniversary isn't a birthday but I'm not sure when he hatched and I'd rather be distracted from my own getting old-er.

But, every time he blows the candle out, I get a wisp of smoke in my face—and kinda disoriented for a second—and then it flickers back to life. I guess I need some water or something to put it out. Either that, or he's really racking up the wishes.

"Only one, in pieces," I heard in my mind spoken by a strange voice, somewhat weak and echoed, but not unfamiliar. I glanced around for a second, but my espeon straightened up from leaning over the table to be near enough to puff at the candle. "You can hear me! I got two wishes!"

I looked into his lavender eyes, their broad irises and narrow pupils partially hidden by an iridescent reflection that caught all of the light in the room, most of which was supplied by the candle. "You—this, this changes things."

"Yes—" the echoing telepathy continued as Espeon climbed upon the table and passed by the puff. "—now I can do more for you than just be there."

I leaned back in my chair against its backrest, and Espeon reared up to place his right paw on my chest, just above my heart, and to bring his face near mine, his eyes shining a little differently. "My other wish is a gift for you. So you can understand why I love you, and why I forgive you, and why I appreciate you."

I could feel something, a gentle urge that compelled me to consider these last twelve months.

"Please, think back, and remember our time together—"

The times I put Eevee away in my kitchen or bedroom, to hide him from guests or from the landlord—oh, god, the pillowcase thing—the times I yelled at him for being underfoot or distracting me while I was studying for exams, how I—

"—but from my perspective. The perspective of a pokemon who knows that no matter what went wrong or what came between us, at the end of every day, we belong together."


End file.
